


testing;

by paeonelle



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: BDSM, But also, DFAB reader, Dom!Peter, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, For Science!, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but only in chapter one, dom!Doc Ock, has that ever been a tag before lmao, i'm weak, inappropriate use of lab equipment, it's how Peter becomes a sub tbh, no pronouns!, no-one forgive me for i have sinned and it was glorious, sub!peter, tagging that just in case, this isn't even ooc you can't watch ~that~ scene and ignore those vibes b/t these two, whoot!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-02-16 00:09:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18680098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paeonelle/pseuds/paeonelle
Summary: You didn't think he was being serious when he suggested the whole thing. Now you're stuck between a quartet of tentacles and a sticky place.Fuck.[ peter b. parker/reader/olivia octavius ]





	testing;

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> peter poses a question;  
> olivia observes;  
> you make a hypothesis
> 
> [ inspo ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BarDOBWuVg4)  
> [apple music](https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/doc-ocks-guide-to-testing-endurance/pl.u-11zBPbaSNP5Yg3) | [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jmudS7G7hcyuy8OAb9jEC)

Date night. 

Oh,  _date night_. How could you not enjoy it?

A night or two of each week dedicated to just you and your absolutely  ~~annoying~~   _amazing_ boyfriend, either spending it in with a bowl of popcorn and a movie or going out to the Chinese place down on 3rd and taking a stroll through Central Park. They were the perfect reprieve away from a stressful job, doubly so for your current love interest, who just so happened to moonlight as a certain webheaded vigilante. You’d spend some time together basking in the other’s company, flirting and occasionally bitching about the worst parts of your day to the other. 

A quiet candlelit dinner at some upscale swank of a restaurant wasn't what you had initially envisioned this time around, what with your boyfriend's penchant for junk foods consisting of greasy pizza, burritos, hamburgers, and the like, but you were appreciative of the change of pace. Even though you aren't too much of a fan of dressing up, you have to admit that the two of you make a  _damn_  attractive couple. Mr. Parker is downright  _oozing_  sin and sex appeal in that new black two-piece suit you had picked out a few months ago. You'd hate to ruin it later tonight, but violent delights must meet violent ends, correct? You, on the other hand, are dressed none-too-subtly in a bright red off-the-shoulder dress that ends an inch above the knee with a sweetheart neckline and off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. Devilishly demure, as you dubbed it. You'd love to say you even went the extra mile and matched your lingerie to your theme, but funny that...you  _aren't_  wearing any. 

You just wish you could appreciate the intimate setting you've built up tonight a little bit more, but you're too off-balanced to do so.

(Being in an alternate dimension where a different version of your boyfriend had died at the ripe age of 26 would do that to you, you supposed.)

"Hey," A hand rests on the one you have tapping at the table, settling it, "What's eating you, babe?"

Despite your nerves, you can't resist: "Not you."

Peter,  _your_  Peter,  _your_  Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, coughs out a laugh. The rest of the hushed restaurant must feel an earthquake with how loud he is in comparison. You grin impishly as he calms himself. "Later, babe, later. For now, we've got food to eat and someone to meet."

"Oh  _yeah_ ," you lean in closer to him from across the table, lowering your voice to a ghost of a whisper, "Why have you taken me to an alternate dimension just to eat? I'm pretty sure we've got this place back home. And who do we have to meet? You act like you've got it in with the President or some other political big-wig of this reality or something."

He shoots you double finger-guns and clicks his tongue at you. Your eyes roll on their own accord, though the action is accompanied by a laugh. Your nerves are starting to calm the further you get into this little outing. Turning your attention to the plate of garlic bread between you, you scoop one up and take a bite from one of the ends, lifting your own eyebrows at Peter.

"Pop off, Peanut-Butter. Spill the tea. Who are we meeting tonight?"

Peter huffs out a breath between his lips, sounding somewhat like an appalled horse (if that was even possible). As he speaks, he starts to gesture a little crazily with his hands, "I mean, it's a surprise. You aren't gonna believe it when you meet her—"

Her.  _Her?_  Your curiosity has peaked big time.

"—But, I promise she's...uh. She's chill, I guess."

"Pete," you begin slowly, zeroing in on his face and wrinkling your nose, "What's her name?  _And why are we meeting her_?"

His mouth opens and a barrage of odd and confused sounds and noises assault your ears. Your face is otherwise blank save for the eyebrow you raise at him. In embarrassment, Peter covers his face with his hands and drags them down, his bottom eyelids drooping with the movement briefly. 

"What's gotten into you all of a sudden? It's just a question, PB."

"I know, I know," he babbles, "I'm just thinking of why we're here again and it sounds way better in my head."

"Huh?"

Peter is deadly quiet as he takes a paper napkin into his hand, digging into your purse for a pen. You shoot him a glare for that; he was supposed to be guarding it, not lifting from it. He shrugs off your glare and hunches his broad form over the napkin, scribbling whatever down faster than you're expecting. It crumples in his hand, and he whips his head around to see if anyone is watching before tossing it at the cleavage you've got on display with a smirk.

"Hey!" you hiss, scrambling to grab it before your waiter spots it. "What is  _up_  with you tonight? You're acting like someone's watching you one minute, then a kid the next..."

You unroll the napkin casually, without any of the care Peter had put into it— _oh_.

Your cheeks heat up, burning hotter than the Sahara and brighter than the sun. Your fist unconsciously clenches the napkin and tosses it back to Peter, who catches it ungracefully. There's a pregnant lull in that intimate air you cooked up, and it's quickly being replaced by something else. Something a tad bit...

Hedonistic.

 

Yes.

_Hedonistic_.

Peter isn't taking your silence too well—hey, he's got  _spider_  powers, not psychic ones—and is currently freaking out across from you. It isn't visible to any other patron in the restaurant, but you see it in the way a microscopic bead of sweat trails down his temple, in the way his nose twitches every odd second, in the way he absent-mindedly scratches at the stubble forming on his chin. You hope the smirk you give him is devilishly demure, just like your outfit.

"A threesome, eh? You absolute  _ho_."

He's positively  _astonished_. Hook, line, and sinker. "What?"

"You heard me," you lean in as close as you possibly can, feeling utmost satisfaction in the lingering gaze he gives your chest when you press it against the table, "You came to this dimension on accident and even though your only goals were to help a teenager out and come back home to me, you were still thinking like a ho. Who is she, Pete—"

“—Oh,  _thank god_ , what a perfectly timed distraction.”

He's looking off toward the entrance, deliberately not turning back to you when you lean forward and try to grab his attention. Instead, he merely tilts his chin to the door and flicks his eyes from you to back to whomever he was staring at. You pout.  _Asshole_. You were just starting to have fun with that little game you were playing, and the little ache in your core was only spurring you on. Peter pretends to not notice you, and you roll your eyes. Ah, fuck it. Curiosity killed the cat and it might kill you too if you let him tease you like this.

You take one look at the door and instantly have to sit back down in your seat, mouth opening and closing randomly like a bewildered fish.

"Holy shit. She's hot," you mumble in absolute reverence. Peter whistles low from across the table whilst nodding his head.

Whoever this mystery woman is, she's  _absolutely_  dressed to the nines. Her body is clothed in a sleeveless black floor-length gown with a halter neck, a slit coming up the right side of her skirt and ending two inches or so above her knee. Her stiletto heels are glittery and probably encrusted with diamonds more expensive than your entire worth, and they  _click_  on the tan marble floor with a flair of elegance. Honestly? She could step on you with those and you'd thank her for it.

The frames of the glasses perched on the tip of her nose are hexagonal in shape, white in color. The curious design of them only serves to highlight her sharp features: from the curve of her nose to her high cheekbones to her angular jawline. Her thick brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail that spills over her shoulders whenever she turns her head. You spot errant strands of purple hidden throughout the brown and feel even more inadequate. 

(It feels like you've been given a participation award for your  _cute_  red dress. Hot damn.)

"Hot for teacher, much?" Peter elbows you softly and places his index and middle fingers under your chin to gently prod it upward. You hadn't even realized you were staring with your jaw on the floor like an  _idiot_. You shake your head and glance back at him, though you keep this mysterious woman in the corner of your vision.

" _Is_  she a teacher? I'm too old to be teacher's pet again, but for her—"

"—Keep it in your pants, sweetheart. Good things come to those who wait, right?"

You purse your lips in response, eyes traveling back to the mystery lady. You blanch.

She's smirking at you.

 

She's smirking.  _At you_!

"Peter...I think she sees me."

"Huh? Oh. Why yes, yes she does see you."

"Oh my god. She's coming this way. Oh my god.  _What do I do_?"

"Calm down, kiddo. Act natural!"

"Oh yeah, like we're totally  _not_  here just to propose a threesome with her!"

"I mean, yeah or whatever, but—"

"— _ohmygodohmygod_  Pete, she's here, she's here, shut up!"

She looks even better up close. Behind those glasses is a pair of ivy green eyes that absolutely ooze with pride, mischief, and a glint of something more sinister. You briefly wonder just how Peter knew of this woman before she completes her walk to your table and smiles smugly.

"Why, hello again, Peter," the woman croons, her eyes flicking to him for a fraction of a second before raking over you. A shiver takes your spine, forcing you to sit up straighter under her intense gaze. Her sneer only grows in satisfaction. "And who is this lovely friend you've brought along with you?"

Your lips are just parting when Peter swoops in to save you from potentially (read: most definitely) embarrassing yourself, "This lovely friend is my partner, [Name]. [Name], meet Olivia—"

"— _Just_  Liv, thank you." She motions to your side of the table, "May I?"

"S-sure, yeah, go ahead," you stutter, sliding from your seat in the center of the booth to just about right next to the wall. Liv sets a small emerald clutch that matches her eyes on the table, and suddenly the comfortable bubble built between you and Peter has burst and mutated into a hot and sweaty wrestling ring of nerves. Or at least, in  _your_  mind it has. With the way Liv is grinning you have a feeling she's hiding something up her metaphorical sleeves, and with the way Peter is glancing between the two of you, you have a feeling he's not too comfortable with that fact. 

"How have you been, Peter? I haven't seen you in what, a year or so?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, the corner of his lips just barely turning upward. "Been busy taking care of that one over there," he points to you and winks, "while dealing with the rest of New York.  _My_ New York, anyway. How have  _you_  been,  _Liv_? Haven't seen you since...that thing happened. How's your hip?

The grin on Liv's face falters for a hair of a moment before it's back, though it's a little more forced than it had been prior. "Better than your back, I think," she blinks slowly and leans a little on the table as you had done earlier, but you take it as more of a challenge for Peter to back down, "You know, Miles is an excellent prodigy of yours. I enjoy the... _disputes_  we get into every now and then."

Peter's own smile edges into something a little more dangerous. Consider your interest piqued, yet again. You knew of Miles from Peter raving and singing praises about the kid once the former had returned to your dimension after his fun dimension-hopping trip a year ago. Yes, Miles was a prodigy, and while you had yet to meet him in person, you wholeheartedly believed this. What you couldn't figure out, however, is how and why this Liv knew of Miles. Oh, _wait_ —

"—Are you his debate teacher, or something?"

Peter and Liv gawk at you with similar expressions that make you want to shrink. And you do. You shrink further into the seat of your booth and feel your cheeks burn hotter than Satan's taint when a faint  _squeak_  crosses your ears as you do.

_Are you there, God?_   _Because I'm gonna need your help_ ,  _badly_.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in-between your actual meals, a hand ghosts its way over your right kneecap. At first, you think it's just some dust that's fallen from underneath the table, but you're proven oh so wrong when your own fingers brush up against someone else's. You just barely manage to hold back the shocked gasp in your throat.

Oh,  _hell_. 

It skitters away before you have the chance to snap your legs shut, and you hold yourself together before Peter has the chance to realize something is off. Your eyes dart to your side to regard Liv, who plays it cool and blows on the lobster bisque she had scooped up with the spoon in her other hand. You catch green emeralds snap to you and glint with something vaguely amused before they flick away. Your own eyes go back to Peter, who remains as oblivious as ever.

Sighing mostly to yourself, you decide to catch them off guard now instead of later. They aren't expecting it now, you figure. "So how do you two know each other exactly?"

Hook, line, and sinker yet again! Peter's eyes balloon to the size of saucers as he squeezes the piece of bread he held, crumbs cluttering the table. Liv chokes discreetly on her soup, gulping heavily. You observe the eye contact they make in response to your question with a distinctly disinterested visage, but underneath, your interest is fully piqued.

( _Aroused_ , even.)

"Uh, well, we, um..." Peter verbally fumbles, turning the bread in his hand into a stress ball despite the mess of crumbs it makes on the table. "You know, it's a funny story, and Liv absolutely  _loves—"_

"—I do  _not_ —"

"—telling it, so I'll just let her do so!"

If only looks could kill. You stifle a snicker under your breath as Liv's eyes narrow to slits before she slightly turns to you. She dabs at her lips with a napkin before speaking, and if you didn't know any better (and, you know, if you hadn't a  _superhero_  for a boyfriend, of course), you might have just seen that as a polite gesture. But you don't, and you're internally smirking as you note her thinking of a proper answer to your question.

Liv sets the napkin down, "You know what? We met because I know he's Spider-Man."

Well, shit. You didn't  _see_ that coming, and apparently, neither did Peter because he chokes on the water he was drinking before it sprays out of his nose.

" _Liv,_ " He hisses in-between coughs, grabbing his napkin and dabbing at his suit, " _What the fuck_?"

You exhale empathetically, rising slightly from your seat to peer at his suit. His entire lap is drenched in water, and he better be thankful you picked out a stark black suit instead of that crisp navy one (that did him _so many favors_ ) because if you hadn't, it definitely would have looked like he pissed himself. He also better be thankful the rest of the restaurant completely didn't give a shit that he became a water-breathing dragon for a second there, because the rest of the patrons around you continue their dinners with ease.

You wave your waitress over, a young college-aged girl with a cute little dimple near her eye. She practically skips over and chirps, "What can I help you with?"

"Where is the bathroom located? And can we get another refill on the water for my boyfriend, please?"

She turns to her right, motioning down the aisle of booths and tables, "If you go straight down here and take the very last left you can take, the bathrooms are hidden in a little cave-like area. And of course!" With that, she turns and scurries off to grab a pitcher of water for Peter's glass.

Speaking of which, Peter makes a whole-ass show of wiping as much water as he can off of his crotch before standing and comically bowing to you and Liv. "Sorry, ladies, but I've got another date waiting. Try not to have too much fun while I'm gone, will you?"

Somehow, you just  _know_  Liv's fighting back a smirk behind her napkin. You decide to answer for the both of you, smiling gently, "Of course, love. Take your time, okay?"

Peter's not even ten or so steps from the table before you turn on Liv, hissing, " _Who the fuck are you_?"

(You realize somewhat belatedly that you could've also told her off for trying to feel you up just a minute ago, but ah, well. You  _are_ here for a threesome, anyway.)

"A friend," Liv reassures rather carefully, taking up another spoonful of her lobster bisque. "Trust me, I'm not a threat. I'm sure he's already told you why he's brought the two of us together."

"He has. And what are your thoughts on that proposition?"

She grins, "I'm sure you know my thoughts on this situation. Or should I remind you?"

Unconsciously, you snap your thighs shut and narrow your eyes at her, "Don't feel obligated."

"I don't," Liv leans closer to you, sipping on her water in an attempt to remain casual, "But I do have to ask, what are _your_ thoughts? What's holding you back?"

"I asked you first," you frown.

Liv smirks, "I asked you second."

Huffing, you turn back to your abandoned piece of bread from before, picking at it with your fingers. In all honesty, there really wasn't anything holding you back. You and Peter have talked about your various kinks and wants out of the sexual side of your relationship many, many,  _many_ times now. The topic of a threesome has always been something the two of you have been interested in but never carried out, for a multitude of reasons. Of course, there's Peter's main-gig as Spider-Man, your job working as the treasurer for a big bank downtown, the attempts of both of you to find Peter a part-time job suited for his chemical engineering degree  _somewhere_ in NYC, and that's just on the  _job_ side of things. You've both got other things on top of those to worry about, so of course, a threesome would be the lowest thing on your priority list.

"...Nothing," you shrug and wipe your hands off on your napkin, "Well, we haven't done this before, only considered it... So I suppose that. You?"

Liv mimics your shrug, "Nothing for me as well. Peter came to me with this idea a week or so ago, I laid down the law, and he seems to be on board with it. I'm sure you will be, too."

It takes you a moment, but you soon feel the tickle of fingers dancing their way up your arm before they stop at the ends of your hair. While you still feel a little on edge with her presence (did she ever explain  _how_ she knew your boyfriend was Spider-Man?), you're more curious to let her have her way with you. Before you can stop it, a shudder courses up and down your back at the thought. You hear Liv snicker lowly as her fingers gently brush your hair off of your shoulder. 

She purrs your name and twirls a strand around her right index before continuing, "You see, I'm not quite into your boyfriend, sweetie. I'd love to watch him break, but I'd rather not lay a finger on him."

Her left hand rounds your shoulder, pulling you closer to her until your thighs are pressed together under the table. That same hand instantly threads itself back into your hair, rubbing at your scalp rather soothingly. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of skin you've got exposed, and again, you're regretting your outfit choice.

"But you, sweetie," Liv murmurs, "I'd love to have every inch of you all to myself."

Everything's hot, though you can't complain. Your heart rate has quickened, there's a blazing blush taking up residence on your face, you're fifty percent sure your eyes are just overflowing with lust, and you're one hundred percent sure you're soaking through your dress at this point. You spare a glance at Liv's painted ruby red lips, which you swear are going to be stuck curled in a permanent smirk. When your eyes meet hers, she wiggles her eyebrows at you. In an instant, she parts from your side, scooting all the way over to the other end of the booth before you can truly comprehend what just happened.

"Liv—?" You inwardly curse yourself out. Just what was this woman doing to you?

The woman in question smiles softly at you, nearly putting all of your nerves to rest then and there. "Tell me to stop, sweetie. Your boyfriend will be back any minute, and I'm sure he'd be mad we started the fun without him. Besides, we always have  _tomorrow_ , don't we?"

A part of you  _really_ wants to say no, and you try to, you really do. But unfortunately, there's a greater part of you that's pretty fucking horny and ready to get this show on the road. And despite being at least a decade older than you, you had to admit that Liv was definitely your type, and the fact that the two of you are currently sitting in a five-star restaurant is only making you want this more than you possibly should. You lick your lips hastily, delighting in the way your companion's eyes follow the movement hungrily.

Slowly, you say, "Well...he'll be upset, yeah. But. At least I can cross this off my bucket list."

There's a very brief, very minuscule moment of silence and hesitation on your end, but Liv on the other hand, looks  _over the moon_. The next thing you know, she's a little bit closer to you than before, the hand furthest from you taking a casual position on the table near her bowl of soup. You're confused for a second before you feel her fingers skim up your thigh, taking the right one within her grasp and prying it from its twin. Your breath hitches inaudibly as she does, and you feel your face itch with how hot it gets. You were really doing this! What an adventurous bitch you were, about to get some from a not-so-complete stranger in the middle of a crowded fancy-ass restaurant—

_Oh._

You can’t think. Everything in your brain codes itself into a pleasant static as Liv circles your clit with an expertly trained finger.

”Hm, no underwear? You’re too good on that Parker kid,” Liv chuckles lowly.

You’d sarcastically retort about being on a _date_ , but that same finger is easing its touch on your clit to a mere feather-like brush, setting every end of your nerves alight. You force your teeth to latch onto your bottom lip and prevent a highly embarrassing keen from disrupting the rest of the restaurant. Your hips buck imperceptibly under the table, and you just barely catch the approving hum Liv makes under her breath.

"Sensitive?"

She's _actually_ asking you. Fuck. You swiftly nod like a nitwit, "Uh...uh-huh."

Thankfully, Liv has enough couth to turn a blind eye to your lack of self and manages to conceal most of a delighted snort from you. Bless her. Using her index and ring fingers, she ever so gently presses the hood of your clit back, exposing the full bead to the chill air of the restaurant and her wayward fingers. You suck both lips between your teeth this time and exhale all at once when she circles around you once, twice, with a sense of speed and precision and  _care_  you weren't expecting from someone you literally just met. 

Of course, it's just your luck that this moment is when your waitress returns to check on you.

"And how has everything turned out so far," she questions, clasping her hands together. As subtly as you can manage it, you scoot your hips further underneath the table, hoping to buck Liv's fingers away, but she either doesn't get the hint or ignores it (you're leaning more toward the latter option) and continues flicking at your clit before moving down to circle your entrance like a shark and then moving back up.

"Just lovely," Liv chirps, "This bisque is  _fantastic_ , and my friends were just  _singing_ their praises about their dishes. Isn't that right?"

Okay, now you're starting to regret this just a bit. You glare at Liv as she smiles and pulls on the bead currently caught between her fingers, digging your nails into the bottom of the table. Turning to your waitress, you attempt a smile, "Yes, this chicken alfredo is am _aaa_ —zing!"

(Liv's finger has entered you. Jesus shit.)

"Uh. Excuse me, but...are you alright?"

"Just... _peachy_ ," You grunt, feeling your fake smile falter.

Beside you, there's a rumble of a chuckle within Liv as she slips another finger within you, idly massaging your walls as if she could do this and make quaint conversation at the same time—oh  _wait,_ she  _can_ do that.

Your waitress, your poor, poor waitress, leans a little closer from her stance. "Are you sure you're okay? You look tomato red under these lights."

(The lighting of the restaurant is dimmed  _and_ red in hue. Fuck.)

Liv's fingers curl against your g-spot seconds before you can open your mouth, and you grind your teeth together. She bounces in clear joy as she figures out the nature of her discovery, momentarily forgetting where exactly she's at physically. Your waitress pops an eyebrow in surprise before Liv calms herself.

"I think the two of us just might need some fresh water," Liv muses, setting her opposite elbow on the table and resting her chin on it. "Could you be a dear?"

"Of course...?"

Thank god. The relief that spreads through your body is temporary, though, because with it came the further spreading of your thighs, and with that came Liv seeing that as a helpful opening and scissoring her fingers far within you. You're glad your eyes rolled to the back of your head then and didn't when the waitress was two inches from seeing.

Liv's thumb swivels up to brush against your clit in time with the light thrusts of her fingers, and you whine under your breath. There's a breathless laugh coming from her as she faces you again, pupils dilating at the sight of you. With a content sigh, she dips her head and skims her lips around the shell of your ear. Her fingers quicken as she trails farther south, lips parting to bite down just before the base of your neck. You gasp sharply, and suddenly your heart is in your throat.

" _Liv_ , I—"

The pace of her digits thus far has been a far cry from brutal or pistoning, though just as far from a slow burn. (As Goldilocks would say, "just right.") You're somewhat surprised she's brought you to the brink in such a short amount of time, especially considering your boyfriend (thankfully) hasn't been a slouch in that whole department himself. But enough on that.

Your chest is heaving under the confines of your dress, and Liv leers at the sight. Almost conversationally, she murmurs, "I can't wait to see how you look underneath this adorable little dress, sweetie." She gives a quick glance around the rest of the restaurant, snickering once she's finished. She presses another kiss to the top of your right breast and manages to stroke your clit along with it, and you're choking.  _God_.

Are you dying?

And not like you're complaining, (oh, you most definitely are  _not_ ) but, where in the ever-loving  _fuck_  is Peter?

Apparently, Liv is also wondering, because her fingers nearly withdraw from you as she pulls her face away from your cleavage. You manage a hushed groan and she shushes you with a pair of lips at your temple, grinning all the while. "Good things come to those who wait, kitten. I want your  _boyfriend_  to see the look on your face when you come."

Your waitress chooses right after that moment to materialize once more with a vase of water, pouring it in your glass and Liv's own. "And will we be doing dessert today?"

"Of course," Peter follows your waitress's lead and slides into his side of the booth smoothly, snatching up the appropriate menu and glancing over it. "I don't know about you two, but that chocolate mousse cheesecake looks killer."

_No! No cheesecake, no dessert, no anything, because your_ friend  _over here is currently three knuckles deep into my cooch and I'm having trouble feeling guilty about it when I know your spider-sense has to have gone off by now_!

Er, that's what you want to say, of course. But years of dealing with one Peter B. Parker has taught you enough common sense that when your gaze darts to Liv, who's looking back at you with a curved eyebrow, you sigh with your shoulders and smile to Peter and the waitress.

And you say, "That sounds lovely."

Pleased with your answer, Liv's fingers pick a pace you'd now describe as brutal. She covers up the moan you can't help but make under your breath with a, "No, thank you. But I'm sure my friend here wouldn't mind sharing a dessert with me if I feel like it. Isn't that right, _sweetie_?"

You can only nod, cheeks heating at the euphemism. You think your waitress might find the three of you stupid at this point, but bless her heart she's collecting your plates and chirping to the table about getting two absolutely decadent cheesecakes out as soon as possible. No sooner than her vacating the area does Liv slant toward the table, her thumb kneading  _hard_  into that damned bundle of nerves of yours.

"Peter, you need to work on that spider-sense of yours," she lightly chides.

He looks bewildered, which you would find funny if you currently weren't being driven closer and closer to coming. His eyes dart around for a quick second as he focuses inwardly, then blow wide at the sight of your face. "What? What is—"

Before you can make any movement to stop him, he's yanking the tablecloth away from his legs and peering under the table. He gasps in shock, just loud enough for Liv to hear and smugly draw her fingers out of you. You glance down to see her wiggle them—shining brightly with your essence—in his face. There's a brief moment of tension before she parts your folds one last time and plunges her digits into you, causing you to cover your mouth before you can cry out in pleasure.

She's hitting your g-spot and clit with every motion and your hips undulate wildly under the table. Peter watches passively, his pupils dilating so far you can just barely focus on the ring of brown surrounding them. You'd be worried...you know, if you weren't getting practically fingered to hell's gates at the moment. Liv is hissing something to Peter, despite the fact that he's refusing to turn to acknowledge her, and you're barely hanging onto full awareness the closer you get to release.

" _Liv_... _Peter_. I-I'm gonna—"

"—Shhh," Liv smirks, "Come for me, sweetie."

You've been talking to him all night, but when you orgasm, you swear you can actually see God. Peter's darkened expression is burned on the insides of your eyelids before everything goes white, and mid-orgasm you're just barely aware of the sheer feat you pulled off in staying silent throughout it.

Slowly but surely color starts to bleed back into your vision, and you get just the smallest glimpse of Peter studying you with that dark look of his. Despite just meeting your peak, you feel another zip of arousal that causes your walls to clench around nothing. Panting inaudibly, you're just about to say something ( _anything,_ really) when your waitress pops out of nowhere yet again.

"Two chocolate mousse cheesecakes," she announces, setting the plates holding the delicious-looking desserts on your table, "And will we like the check now or after?"

"Now, please," Peter nearly growls, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your poor, poor waitress skips off, probably thankful to be finally ridding herself of your wacko table. With a shaking hand, you clutch your spoon and lob off a sizable piece of your dessert, sticking it in your mouth as you try to ignore the stickiness between your thighs. (Internally, you smirk. It was worth it. And god, this cheesecake actually _is_ killer.)

"If you two will excuse me," Liv says, "I've got to run to the ladies room. Try not to strangle each other while I'm gone?"

She strokes your exposed thigh salaciously before grabbing her clutch and making her way to the bathroom, and you waste no time in pushing your dessert aside and laying your hand on the table, palm facing the ceiling. Peter takes his sweet-ass time in acknowledging you, practically shoveling half of his cheesecake down his throat before clearing his throat and giving you a look. It's silent for a tiny moment before he breaks out laughing, pressing his palm to yours and moving your hands so that he can kiss yours.

Despite the positive change in mood, you can't quite help yourself, "Are you mad?"

"No. I mean, I did come up with the idea. But I wish you two would have at least waited for me to get back," he whispers with a slight grin, fingers tapping at your palm, "I have to admit, though, the look on your face when you came... _mwah!_ " He holds up three fingers and presses them to his lips to kiss them. "I'll remember  _that_ forever."

"Hmm," you can't help the smile that seizes your mouth, pressing your opposite hand to your chin in an attempt to cover it, "I'm glad. Do you really want to do this, though? A threesome with her? How do you even know this woman?"

All too soon you're taken back to the beginning of the night, and Peter nervously rubs his own opposite hand against the back of his neck, "You'll find out soon. And you probably won't like it."

Cocking your head to the side in confusion, your eyes catch your waitress dropping off the checks for Peter and yourself and Liv. She bids all of you a fantastic night with a beam that you're surprised doesn't feel forced with the way she's had to deal with your table. Peter gives her a small smile as she does, thanking her for her service and requesting a to-go box for your cheesecake. It's then that Liv comes back to the table, snatching up her check and flipping it open to survey the damage.

"Mmm, I've had worse lobster bisque for more right down the street," she informs you, "Thanks, Parker. Might have found me a new favorite. So, tomorrow? We're all in agreement for this...activity?"

You nod. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Peter watches you nod, then exhale and nod along himself. Olivia flashes you a toothy grin and opens her clutch purse to dig around for her wallet, fishing out a matte black credit card seconds later. You're just about to turn back to sip at your water again before the light reflects off the letters at the bottom of the card.

_Olivia...Odelia....Octa _—__

You have to be seeing things. Shaking your head just a bit, you grab your glass and gulp down half of your drink right then and there. When you lower it, you see Peter cock an eyebrow at you, then snap his eyes back to where Liv is signing her check.

_Octavi _—__

No.

You watch as she finishes signing, dotting her 'i' at the very end. Your eyes connect with Peter's once more and he nods slowly, mouthing:

 

_Octavius_.

 

Wait.

 

_What the fuck_.

Peter picks up the check with your meals on it, scribbling down the tip, total, and his signature in record timing. There's a glint of something in his eye as he slides his credit card into the holder and sets it upright at the edge of the table for your waitress.

"Wait," You're too busy latched on that one thing, that one little  _name_ , that one thing that might throw an entire wrench into your plans, to fully comprehend everything that's gone down (and everything that has  _yet_  to go down) thus far. Heh, there's also the edges of your orgasm plaguing some parts of your brain still, but you don't need her knowing that as well, especially if she truly is who you think she is. " _What_   _did you say your name was_?"

Liv.  _Olivia._  Olivia  _Octavius_. Like a bookish stripper gyrating along to the  _Harry Potter_  soundtrack, this night is beginning to make an odd amount of sense. The banter. Her appearance. Peter swiftly and abjectly giving up control of the night as he studied the way she nearly finger-fucked the life out of you.

Oh,  _hell_. Peter truly wasn't kidding about internal biases.

There's a sense of dread that twists your stomach as she adjusts her glasses, smirking all the while. "Doctor Olivia Octavius," She pauses for what you believe is dramatic effect. Those fingers that had been several knuckles deep into you no less than five minutes ago are stroking your cheek, coaxing a gulp out of you. She sneers, "But you can call me  _Liv_ , sweetie."

Peter's on his feet in a flash, and you're a tad impressed at how low-key it looks. Best not make a scene in an elegant restaurant, alternate dimension or no. Thanks to your trained eye you know he's a bit pissed, and a glance back over to Liv (Olivia? Doctor Octavius?  _Doc Ock_?) and the shit-eating curl of her mouth confirms she sees it as well. With a short exhale, Liv slides to the edge of the booth and fluidly exits. Two sets of eyes trail back to you, waiting in your seat.

You roll your eyes at their behavior. Enemies will be enemies.

Even if they do want to share you for a night.

You shiver. 

Thanks to a quiver in your thighs you weren't aware of until now, getting out of the booth is a decidedly un-elegant affair. You wobble once you're fully upright and feel two hands place themselves at the small of your back, fingers brushing. The one on your right—the one you're fully aware belongs to Liv—flicks the fingers of the one on your left, faintly rubs a circle on your dress, and retreats. Peter's hand wastes no time in circling your opposite side, gripping on your waist in a protective gesture that would normally have you weak in the knees, but someone's deprived both of you of that sensation already. You have a feeling Peter senses this when you hear him  _tsk_  under his breath.

Despite you leaving your table behind, your conversation is far from over. You pick up the slack and question, "So this is really happening? You two promise to play nice tomorrow?"

Doc Ock ( _Liv_? You can't really decide between calling her by her actual name or the crude nickname you know everyone and their mother in New York had tacked on her and the male counterpart of her that existed in your dimension. Anyway.) grins salaciously, "Why, of course, sweetie. As long as Peter does the same, I don't see how we'll have any problems tomorrow."

You don't trust her smile, or at least you  _think_  you don't. 

(Peter  _definitely_  doesn't.)

"Yeah, sure, whatever," He practically growls behind a polite smile, pulling you closer, "As long as you don't manhandle my partner again, alright?"

The roll of Liv's eyes is unmissable, even though she tries to hide it by showing the two of you her palms in a sheepish gesture. You're at the door of the restaurant now. The night air carries a slight chill, and you decide to blame the goosebumps still dotting your legs on that instead of either of these two dickheads. Liv nods along to whatever Peter is saying and moves to shake his hand cordially in front of the waitstaff. You're just tuning back into them when she wraps her arms around you and presses a kiss to your cheek, the skin surely being stained with the red of her lipstick. Before either you or Peter have time to react, she's spun out of reach and waves to you from the revolving entrance with a smile.

"See you two  _tomorrow_!"

With that, Liv near skips out of the restaurant, leaving the two of you gaping in her wake. You're glad Peter still has a tight grip on your waist because your legs tremble unconsciously. You feel him chuckle at your side, and spare him a glance. He's smirking at you. Your eyes roll on their own for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

" _What_ , Peter?"

"What do you call a female Otto that's a lesbian?"

You blink, and then place your face in your palm. Between the gaps of your fingers, you watch as his smirk grows and groan, "... _Jesus Christ—_ "

"—Doctor Lick-a-lot-a-puss."

"Dear God. Please grant me the strength to kick this dickwad's ass."

Peter laughs even harder, "Later, babe,  _later_." He leans into your ear and whispers, "You don't want to knock me out before  _tomorrow_ , do you?"

 

Holy hell are you glad this restaurant is in a different dimension. You've suffered enough within these damned four walls.

 

 

(Unfortunately though, if everything that has happened in the past two hours is how your "introductory" night was supposed to go, then your suffering is only  _just getting started_.)

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, a young waitress sighs in relief as she sheds her work-required heels for a pair of flats. Beside her, a male coworker looks over his friend's tips for the night.

"Holy shit, Madge," He breathes, "You got a three-hundred dollar tip tonight for one meal! Who was it?"

Madge rolls her eyes, "Some weird couple and their friend. I'm pretty sure one of them was getting fingered under the table toward the end of their meal, though. Ugh."

 

 

He shrugs, "Well.... _at least they tip well_?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _la la la la la la la la la la la_
> 
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> 
>  
> 
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> 
> (aka first time writing smut, yeet yeet)
> 
> part two to comin' at ya soon ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


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